


yellow

by Halbeary



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Disassociation, M/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, sad but with happy ending because I am weak and will not survive the winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halbeary/pseuds/Halbeary
Summary: Barry's gone. He's not coming back.





	yellow

**Author's Note:**

> whew, boy. i've been working on this for so long and finally got around to cleaning up a major part of it. 2 chapters planned. i've already got a lot of the 2nd part written so i sincerely hope that this doesn't turn into an unfinished wip because i'll hate myself forever
> 
> note: this is pretty depressing until late chapter 2. do not read if already sad because it'll just make u more sad (can confirm)
> 
> another note: this takes place after crisis on infinite earths (with a few universe changes on my end). if you're not familiar with the story I suggest reading that before reading this, as it may be confusing without some perspective!

It starts with a light breeze.

His shoes are caked with mud, socks wet from the dew-covered grass seeping into the worn canvas. His toes are starting to ache from the cold. There’s a scraping sound of shovel hitting ice-caked earth somewhere in the distance, but that’s not what causes his head to finally lift skyward, amber eyes drifting away from the chiseled letters and cold marble.

The damp hairs on his forehead shift, blown upward by a gentle updraft. There’s something about the way the air feels– the way the warm wind brushes over his forehead, separating clumps of hair until the untangled strands settle back onto his skin. There’s something about the way that nothing else moves– the grass is frozen stiff, leaves on the trees completely still– about the way that this tiny, achingly familiar touch seems to be concentrated solely on his location.. that makes him pause. Makes his eyes narrow in suspicion, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the overcast sky.

There’s another quick brush– his cheekbone, this time, and there’s something about the way that the air’s suddenly warm on the otherwise freezing October morning, about the way it feels less like a random occurrence, more like a deliberate caress..

.. that makes him start to doubt.

Brown eyes flicker back towards the freshly turned dirt. His toe kicks a clump of frozen ground and he watches as it rolls down the mound, slowly turning until it comes to a halt on a patch of ice-covered grass. He takes one last look at the words carved into stone–

– _rry Allen, savior of the_ –

–before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, spinning on his heel and starting the trek back towards the city. His mind is playing tricks on him, giving him false hope where there is none. That’s all it is. His fingernails bite into the palm of his hand, his jaw clicks as his teeth grind together.

Barry’s gone. He’s not coming back.

 

\-----------------------

 

_Hal._

Long eyelashes drag against cream-colored pillowcase as his eyes shoot open. He runs a hand through his hair, pushes himself up on a shaking arm to blink into the darkness of the room. The cold, empty room.

He wasn’t asleep. He hasn’t been able to sleep in two days. The quilt is drawn tight around goosebump-covered arms as he tries to get warm. The sheets seem so cold, the quiet, cozy warmth he’s always associated with their bedroom snuffed out the instant Barry had disappeared from this world. His eyes flicker to the right, to the slightly rumpled blanket, the tiny indent in the soft pillow, to the nightstand where a lone paperback sits with a bright red bookmark sticking out of well-loved pages, to the blinking neon 4:35 taunting him from behind battered black plastic.

No one here. Just him.

The breath he had been holding leaves his lungs in a rush, exhaustion pushing him back towards the mattress. He remembers Jim saying something to him a while back, after mom– after she passed. Something about how her being there one moment, and being gone the next.. something about how quickly everything seems to flip on its head, how everything that made sense suddenly seems strange and unfamiliar. How something about that sudden shift made him feel uneasy, made his brain play tricks on him. Made him hear her voice, or make him see her in the corner of his eye when in reality she was gone.

Maybe that’s what’s happening to him now. Maybe that’s all this is; that familiar feeling of fingers carding through his bangs, the quiet timbre of his voice as he says his name with such unguarded affection.. maybe it’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps, the things that are missing all of a sudden. Maybe that hole that’s opened up in his chest, the one that makes him feel hollow and empty, that makes everything suddenly seem so huge and impossible to deal with– maybe his mind’s just trying to protect him with these.. these remnants.

A trickle of ice begins to work its way from his throat all the way to his stomach. He shivers, fingers clenching the soft blanket even tighter around his body. Maybe he just needs to accept it, that Barry– that he’s–

_Hal._

He eyes clench tight, teeth grinding together as he tugs the blanket up and over his head. Knees come to chest, arms wrapping around the undisturbed pillow as he drags it close to bury his face into the familiar scent of ocean breeze fabric softener and store-brand shampoo. He inhales at the same time his eyes sting, that icy feeling working its way into every muscle in his body, freezing his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“I miss you.”

His body shakes, blankets drawn tight as he struggles to get warm. Maybe without Barry by his side– without his arms wrapped around him as he drifts off to sleep, without their fingers twisted together as Barry swings their arms between them like a teenager, without the soft rise and fall of Barry’s chest under his cheek– maybe he’ll never be warm again. He drags his finger down the tiny wrinkles and divots of Barry’s pillow.

“I wish you were here.”

The tips of his hair– the clump sticking out of the mountain of blankets– shift, rustling back and forth and that last little barrier he had barely keeping him afloat finally breaks. His lungs heave as he sobs into the pillow, probably smearing mucus and salty tears. He really shouldn’t be ruining Barry’s pillow, he shouldn’t be messing it up when it’s one of the only things that he has left that still reminds him of how Barry smells, how he used to feel wrapped around him in their bed after a rewarding day of fighting for justice, but he- he can’t bring himself to stop.

He’s not sure how long he spends curled around Barry’s pillow, sobs wracking his shoulders as he desperately tries to calm down– but he can’t, god, he can’t calm down, not without Barry here– not without his warm hand carding through his hair and his heart beating beneath his ear.

_Hal, I’m–_

His hands cover his ears, fingertips digging into his temples.

“Stop. Stop it, _fuck–_ ”

He’s exhausted, tears all but spent as he tightens his grip on the pillow. Maybe he’s going insane. Maybe without Barry here to keep him grounded he’ll just drift apart, torn to shreds piece by piece until there’s nothing left. That icy feeling works it way deeper into his body and he shivers. As he drags his eyelashes back and forth against the pillowcase, he realises what it is.

It’s fear.

He doesn’t hear Barry’s voice for the rest of the night. He’s not sure if he’s relieved– or disappointed.

 

\-----------------------

 

When he wakes up in the morning he feels hollow.

When he looks at himself in the mirror, he counts four white hairs above his ears. It seems fitting.

 

\-----------------------

 

For the first time in his life he gives Bruce his full attention as he goes over the weekly Watchtower status report. Not because he actually cares, but because if he doesn’t then his gaze starts wandering to the left to where the continuity of the conference table is broken; an empty space between him and Diana.

He grits his teeth. _Don’t look at it._ He can’t let himself think about that right now. He has a duty; to this Sector, to the Corps, to the League, to the planet below. That duty is the only thing holding him together. He uses it like a shield, lets it act as a buffer between the overwhelming despair and hopelessness he feels constantly threatening to spill out of his lungs.

“– the repairs are nearly finished. Anti-Monitor did significant damage to–”

Hal’s head snaps upward. Anti-Monitor. Him and his weapon– the one that took Barry away from him. The monster that forced Barry to run himself into an early grave, that took away every last ray of hope this godforsaken planet ever had and turned him into dust.

He can feel his pulse pound in his ears. From across the table he notices Clark’s head turn almost imperceptibly in his direction.

He remembers what they had told him when he had finally stopped crying. That from what anyone can tell, Barry had simply ran so fast that he ceased to exist. Had literally dissolved from friction until he was just a string of atoms. All the bright smiles and warm comfort– now just a scattering of particles in space.

_Was he afraid?_

The air suddenly feels thicker. Warmer, more humid. A drop of sweat clings to the side of his temple and gets atomized by the thin sheen of willpower lining his mask.

_Did it hurt?_

His heart pounds in his chest, lungs suddenly struggling to right amount of oxygen into his body. His gaze finally catches on the dull metal sheen of Barry’s empty chair. His own distorted reflection stares back at him.

_Did he expect me to come? Did he trust that I'd be there?_

The reflection shifts, oozing across brushed metal in a way that’s just passed the point of being unnatural, until it forms a border around the edge of the chair. Hal blinks. The distortion is still there, swirling in a lazy circular pattern, like it’s waiting for something.

Bruce says something and he snaps his gaze away from the chair. He tries to focus on the briefing but there’s a throbbing in his temple, right above his ear; a steady _thump thump thump_ that’s making him feel vaguely nauseous. He sees Clark shift in his peripheral vision. Their eyes meet. He’s staring at him in what looks like concern. Hal tears his gaze away and looks down at the tabletop.

_God, why is he here? Why should he get to sit at this table? Why should he get to call himself a protector when when it actually mattered– he wasn’t here?_

His fingers curl against his thighs, a bead of sweat slides down the side of his temple. Brown eyes turn towards Barry’s seat and that distorted circle stares back. Something starts to move in the center– a faint yellow sheen, swirling in a circle, rotating over and over. His head gives a painful _pang_ and he winces, but when he tries to raise his hand to his head to rub at his temple.. he can’t move. He’s frozen, eyes trained on the swirling yellow sheen as it oozes around Barry’s seat.

_He doesn’t deserve to be here._

The image morphs into a steadier circle, yellow light becoming more substantial, and then it’s _fire_ , a swirling inferno that rotates faster and faster, and he can feel himself burning. He almost cries out, asks the others for help but _why should he?_ His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He can’t catch his breath, the air stuck somewhere between his lungs and his frozen mouth. His eyes sting behind the green fabric of his mask.

 _He failed Barry. He failed the entire universe when he wasn’t there to have Barry’s back. Barry was the best of them all, the most important person in this entire goddamn universe and he doesn’t_ –

_He doesn’t deserve to be alive when Barry is dead._

“Hal. _Hal!_ ”

He sucks in a pained breath. Everyone is staring at him, faces lined with a mixture of concern and pity. There’s a strangely comforting pressure on his chest, right over his heart and he doesn’t– his eyes flick back to the chair and the image is already fading, flickering once, twice and then it’s gone, like it was never there. _Oh god, he’s losing it._ Diana grabs his arm with a gentle touch and he lurches out of her grasp. _He doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve their concern, he doesn’t belong here he needs to–_

His chair scrapes on the ground as he shoves back from the table. He swallows around a tight throat. His head throbs; the light is too bright, the room spins on the edges of his vision.

“I have to–” he powers up his ring, already halfway to the glass pane separating the Watchtower from the cold darkness of space “– go.”

He doesn’t notice the way that J’onn frowns at his retreating figure, or the tendril of smoke that sifts up from the seat of Barry’s chair.

 

\-----------------------

 

The earthlight glints off the brown of his eyes. He watches as the clouds shift and swirl around the curve of Earth’s atmosphere, lets the hypnotic shapes distract him. Just for a moment.

He likes it up here; perched on the top peak of one of the moon’s tallest craters. No people to give him pitying looks, nothing to remind him of everything that he lost. Space is silent when he wants it to be. It usually get lonely after a while, but right now.. right now the overwhelming stillness is a welcome reprieve.

Hal tosses a piece of crumbling surface with a tired flop of his arm, watching with disinterest as it cracks against the moon rock and turns to dust.

His head hurts. Probably because he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in four days. Or because he almost lost his goddamn mind in front of the entire league. If Barry were here–

He sucks in a breath, chest constricting painfully. _Stop that._

Hal sniffs. Wipes at the bottom of his nose with the back of his hand. Lets out a long breath.

“.. fuck.”

He thought maybe up here, up where the Earth and all its problems always seem so small, that maybe it would be easier. Easier to breathe, easier to go more than five goddamn minutes without being overwhelmed by how much he misses him.

He should have known better.

It’s never going to get easier. Why should it? Barry is– _was_ – everything to him. The only person who ever loved him for who he was without trying to change him. The only guy in the entire goddamn universe who ever gave him a second chance. His fingers twist into the cold black fabric of his suit. The only person who he ever let himself love without being afraid.

His temples throb and it pulls him from his thoughts. Finger rub at tired skin and he lets out another shaky sigh. This isn’t helping.

He won’t find any peace up here.

Will washes over him and lifts him from his perch. A silent thought for home sends him hurtling towards Earth, cutting through clouds and sky until he’s phasing through the walls of their apartment.

The couch is cold and uninviting as he sinks onto the worn fabric. Blank eyes glance around the living room. There's a hoodie thrown over Barry’s favorite reading chair. An empty beer bottle on the coffee table where a thin layer of dust has settled onto the wood. Hal swipes at it with a frown.

Barry always keeps everything clean. He wouldn’t like for his coffee table to be dusty.

He’s stripping his shirt over his head and running it over the wood before he can really think about it, wiping at the dust with long, fluid motions. The beer bottle gets tossed into the recycling bin. He grabs for the hoodie, about to fold it at least, but–

– but that’s _Barry’s_ hoodie. The soft red one that he always loved to sink into after a long day at work. He thumbs over the faded Cougars logo on the front, remembers tugging at the strings to drag Barry closer, remembers slipping the hood up over his hair when he least expected it just to watch him huff in annoyance. It’s Barry’s favorite hoodie. Barry tossed it right there, the night before–

“Shit– shit, shit—”

He sinks back on the couch, dusty shirt falling the floor as he buries his face in his hands. That icy feeling is back, coating the inside of his stomach and making his body shake as he tries to pull himself together. Barry wouldn’t want him to fall apart, he wouldn’t want that for him. He’d want Hal to be strong. Fingers twist in his hair.

But how does he _do_ that? How does he do that when Barry’s gone? How can he live with the fact that when Barry needed him the most, he wasn’t here? Wasn’t even on the same planet, in the same goddamn sector of the universe? He remembers coming back from the mission– the way that everyone avoided his gaze, the way Kal looked like he'd rather be anywhere else as he tugged him aside. The way he had just kept smiling like an asshole. _What do you mean he’s gone?_ He had thought it was a joke, that Barry was caught in the past or accidentally ran himself into another universe again. Not this.

Because a world without Barry didn’t make sense. Doesn’t make sense. It’ll never make any goddamn sense.

“Fuck.”

He falls back onto the couch, heels of his palms pressing into his eyelids. _Deep breaths. Stop thinking about it. Think about literally anything else, something that doesn’t make him want to throw himself off the nearest building on the off-chance that he might see his smile again_ –

A warm thumb brushes against his cheekbone, wipes at a tear that had escaped down his cheek and his eyes shoot open, hands digging into the fabric of the couch as he sucks in a breath.

“–Bar?” It comes out less of a word, more like a strangled sob. He waits, breath caught in his throat. Waits for a full goddamn minute before letting the air out of his lungs. _God, he’s really going insane._

Knees press against his chest as he buries his face into the couch, letting the well-loved fabric muffle his cries as he tries to calm the fuck down. Barry’s not here– he’s not here, he’s _not_ _here_. His brain’s just playing tricks on him, making him think that everything’s okay when it’s not. It’s really, really not.

 

\-----------------------

 

Three hours later, his eyes blink open when a car honks from the street below.

The first thing he realises is that he’s warm for the first time since he got back to Earth earlier that week. The second thing is that there’s the blanket draped over his shoulders. His favorite blanket. The soft green one from their bed that was definitely not there when he fell asleep.

He thinks he might be going crazy.

 

\-----------------------

 

“I think I’m going crazy.”

Oliver Queen throws him a look– that familiar look like he’s expecting Hal to say something completely ridiculous, but, as usual, chooses to humor him– but today it’s mixed with apprehension. He raises his eyebrows and takes a swig of his beer.

“Yeah? What makes you say that?”

Hal rubs his hand over his face, fingers rubbing at the corners of tired eyes.

“I don’t know. I just– I mean, it sounds insane, but.. I can _hear_ him.”

To Ollie’s credit, the apprehensive look is replaced by something a lot more sympathetic. He sets his beer bottle down with a heavy clunk and leans forward across the table. His hand feels warm on his arm when he squeezes his fingers in support.

“Hal,” his voice is soft; serious, for once. “It’s not– it’s normal for people to experience things like that, after..” his arm waves his a vague sort of motion, like he can’t quite bring himself to say it. Hal grinds his teeth in annoyance.

“It’s not– it’s not _grief_ , Ollie. It’s like..” he stares at the lip of his beer, amber eyes tracking the condensation sliding down the side of the glass. “I’ll be wide awake and I’ll hear him say my name like he’s right next to me. Or sometimes I’ll, y’know.. feel him.”

Ollie narrows his eyes. “What do you mean _‘_ feel him’?”

Hal lets out an uneven breath. “I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, like..” he runs a thumb around the rim of his beer “.. a warm spot where everything else is cold. Things moving when they shouldn’t be.”

He watches as Ollie downs the rest of his beer and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. The lines on his face are etched with a combination of doubt and something infuriatingly empathetic.

“Hal.. you know that he–”

“I know. I _know_ how it sounds, Ollie. I know that he’s–” he chokes, words caught somewhere in the middle of his throat. He sucks in a deep breath. _In, back out. Just breathe, Hal_ , _nice deep breaths_. A warm hand against his cheek, a soft smile that somehow makes everything ok. The air feels like ice as he sucks it back into his lungs.

“You don’t need to remind me. But it won’t _stop_.” He can already feel a headache blooming in his temples. He’s been getting a lot of those this past week. He presses on the bridge of his nose, one hand clenched tight around his bottle of beer.

“Hal,” Ollie’s voice again, even softer this time. Quiet, like he’s trying not to spook him. It’s annoying. He doesn’t think he's _really_ going insane.. there’s just something going on. There has to be.

“Maybe you should talk to Dinah about this.”

Hal looks up, eyebrow crawling half way up his forehead. He can feel the anger bubbling somewhere behind his ribcage, the pounding growing worse behind his skull. He has to speak through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

Ollie shrugs, and there’s something very careful about how he reaches to scratch at his beard– like he knows he’s treading on thin ice– and that makes Hal even more annoyed. His head throbs.

“Well, she’s good with this kinda stuff.” Ollie makes another indecipherable hand gesture. “You know.. mental stuff.”

“I’m not crazy!”

Ollie raises his hands in surrender. “Woah! I never said that! I just meant.. with the things you’re feeling, the things you’re going through. She’s been through that, she would know how to help y–”

“It’s not like that! _God!_ ” His beer bottle goes flying, shattering against the wall in a cacophony of sound and fragments of broken glass. He pulls at his hair. “Why won’t you just believe me?”

His vision blurs and the world slips out of focus. He can hear Ollie try to say something but it sounds muffled; muted, like he’s speaking to him underwater. The hammering in his head is making it hard to think, and when he clenches his eyes shut he expects darkness– a reprieve to the suddenly too-bright florescent lightbulbs shining from the cheap light fixture above– but instead all he sees is

 _yellow_.

A sickening shade of yellow; dull and tainted, like decaying flesh.

_**Hal.** _

His name again, but it’s not Barry, it’s not that familiar cadence that he knows and loves; it’s someone else. Something deep and gravely, something that rattles the inside of his skull and makes him clench his hands over his ears to block it out. Something ancient, something powerful– something that makes his head feel like it’s about to burst. His eyes water, fingernails digging into his temples just to try and make it stop.

“ _Hal!_ ”

A hand on his wrist, something real that tugs him out of whatever state he was in, yanking the world back into focus with a harsh tug that makes him stumble against the table. His eyes shoot open, pupils dilating in the sudden brightness. Ollie’s staring at him like he’s actually afraid. He opens his mouth to say something, but his stomach feels about five seconds from emptying all over the floor and he really– _he really needs to get out of here_.

A solid shove back from the table, a desperate burst of will that sends him blasting into the sky. He doesn’t turn back when he hears Ollie call out his name again, just lets the feeling of wind hitting skin quell the panic in his chest as he tries to force himself to breathe.

 

\-----------------------

 

He twists the errant thread around his index finger, unraveling it from the fraying edge of a hole in his jeans. He knows it’s just going to make the hole bigger, knows that Barry’s not here to carefully sew it back up with that cute look of concentration on his face– the one that makes his tongue poke through his teeth and his eyes get sharp and determined. He knows that he’s just making it worse, but he tugs anyways. Pulls on the string until it won’t budge before releasing it with a shaky sigh.

His chin drops to his knees, back pressed flat against the headboard. Brown eyes stare at the toe of one of his socks, fixated on the threadbare fabric until his vision starts to blur, until the air starts to burn against his irises.

He doesn’t want to close his eyes.

He’s _afraid_ to close his eyes.

His vision stings until he can’t stand it any longer. He blinks.

 _Yellow_.

Something’s wrong. Something's very wrong. He can feel it, deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, at the base of his skull. His fingers feel numb, and everywhere he looks there’s a creeping darkness coalescing around the edges of his vision. _Is Ollie right?_ Is it just grief? Is his fucked up brain finally catching up with him? All those years of being with Barry, thinking that maybe he finally caught a goddamn break and could learn to live without waiting for that next anvil to drop.. was he just fooling himself?

His temples give another painful pang. Cold fingers twist into the short hairs above his ears and rub at his skull. Fuck, his head hurts. His eyes slip closed of their own volition– anything to block out the sudden sensory overload.

_**Hal Jordan**._

He cries out– tries to pull his eyes open but he can’t, they’re glued shut and all he can see is yellow. The color of fear. That _thing_ he’s been fighting his entire goddamn life. His one weakness. It seeps into every muscle in his body, bones locking up, joints refusing to budge.

That’s not Barry’s voice, that’s not him– that was different. Terrifying. His eyes won’t open, his chest feels tight and he tries not to panic but it’s too late. He’s helpless. He’s eight years old, watching his dad’s plane blow up right in front of him and there’s nothing he can do. He’s off-planet, cutting through the stars without a care in the world while Barry’s dying, running himself to death to save the universe and he’s not there to help him. _God, he’s afraid, he’s never been this afraid._ His body shakes, hot tears slide down his nose and his head feels like it’s about to explode from the inside, he can’t–

_Breathe, Hal._

Eyelids pry open, the buzzing in his ears dies down and he sucks in a desperate breath.

A sob of relief, the terror dies down until it’s just an unpleasant background noise. His skull still aches, but it’s manageable now. Bearable. He rests his head between his knees and slowly lets his fingers unfurl from his hair. His breaths even out. In and out, over and over until he can slide down the bed, nose shoved deep into Barry’s pillow as he calms down.

“Bar,” he turns his face further into the pillow. Inhales against the high thread-count fabric. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Fingers card through his hair. A warm touch that moves from the back of his head down to his neck. A gentle squeeze on his shoulder.

He tightens his grip on the bed sheets. Rolls over to face the ceiling.

“Fuck, I’m really losing it.”

A warm pressure on the side of his neck. It feels like a kiss.

He sucks the muckus back up his nose. _Fuck_.

 

\-----------------------

 

When the low hum of the automated air conditioning wakes up him at– he glances to the side table– eight pm, he realises it’s Saturday.

One week since the funeral.

A whole week since his entire world ground to a halt.

It seems hard to believe that it’s been seven days since he’s last seen his face. Last felt his touch. Last looked into those gorgeous blue eyes and thought that he loved him.

Hal drags his eyes from the alarm clock to that corny picture Barry took of them last Christmas. The one where they’re walking back from Central’s Holiday Fair, ice caked on their eyelashes, dimples wide as they smile at each other. He remembers calling Barry a dork when he plopped it onto their side table in a brand new picture frame. How he had tackled Barry to the bed and shoved a pillow in his face ( _‘Stop looking so pleased you nerd–’ ‘Nope. I’m gonna be smiling all day and there’s nothing you can do about it–’ ‘Ugh, you’re infecting me with your lameness– I used to be cool before I met you, you know–’_ ). His thumb drags down the side of the wood frame, lips quirked in a small smile.

If Barry were here, he’d help him figure out what’s going on. His smile slips off his face.

 _But Barry’s not here_ , he thinks.. uncertainly. His eyes dart around the room, not sure what he’s hoping to find. Barry’s not here. He can’t help him. Hal rubs at the inside corners of his eyes with an exhausted swipe. Even Ollie doesn’t believe him, and Ollie’s the closest person he’s got after Barry– well, the closest he has apart from–

Amber eyes snap to the other picture frame, the one on top of their dresser. The one that Barry had taken when he wasn’t looking– the one with him.. and Kid Lantern.

Wally.

God, he’s such an asshole. He hasn’t been able to face Wally after the funeral. He knows he’s staying with Iris, said he was going to spend some time with her after– after everything. How can he look Wally in the eye after what happened? How can he bring himself to face that look of betrayal he knows he’ll see in Wally’s eyes– that look of disappointment.

The one that he knows will scream ‘– _you should have been there! You should have had his back!_ ’

He runs his fingers through his hair with an agitated motion. Wally trusted him to keep Barry safe and he fucked it up. He knows Wally blames him– he _knows_ it. Iris too. How can he show his goddamn cowardly face around them when he knows the only thing he’ll find is resentment?

But.. _fuck_ , he needs to at least check up on him. It’s been too long already. He’s spent too goddamn long trying to pull himself together, for all the good it did. He needs to do right by the people Barry cares– cared– about, even if that means facing that overwhelming bubble of guilt in his stomach. Even if they despise him, maybe if he knows they’re gonna be okay it’ll make everything easier to deal with. Maybe.

He’s tugging on his jacket before he can really think about it, wallet shoved into his back pocket and keys dangling from his fingertips. He doesn’t hesitate until the front door closes behind him. His hand feels cold as it drags down his face, the aged wood hard and unforgiving where it’s pressing into his forehead.

He can’t let Wally or Iris know that he’s– _hearing_ things. That would be cruel. Hal can’t do that to them, can’t give them any false hope.

His gaze settles around his knees. That string from earlier catches on the evening breeze. He feels a burst of irritation at the sight, and when his fingers reach down to yank on it– it snaps.

 

\-----------------------

 

It’s late when he finally knocks on the door to Iris’s place. He’s always liked it here; when he and Barry would come over for dinner and one drink would turn into two, two into three, until Barry would have to physically drag him away from another one of Iris’s embarrassing stories, hot flush on his cheeks.. but with a smile on his face– always. He looks down at the gold handle against red-painted wood. It seems.. different, now. Like he’s suddenly an intruder, not welcome into this warm bubble that used to be his and Barry’s life.

He’s about five seconds from turning around and running back to his apartment when the locks on the door begin to turn. One click– two click– three. Iris always did value safety, especially with her nephew being a superhero. A pause. The peephole goes dark, and then– the door’s yanked open all at once.

She looks tired. There’s dark circles under her eyes, her normally perfectly coiffed hair is flat and lifeless. That air she usually carries about herself, the one Hal always admired, the one that let him know that she would take no shit from anyone, is muted. She seems.. smaller, somehow. Diminished.

He tenses up. Any moment now that door is gonna slam in his face–

“Hal.”

A warm hand cups his cheek, another grips his arm and then he’s being pulled into a tight hug. He blinks. Iris’s arms tighten around his back, face pressed tight against his chest and his arms wrap around her automatically, fingers looping around her tiny frame, chin resting on top of her head. He lets out the breath he’s been holding for the past few minutes.

“Hey Iris.”

Iris pulls back with a watery smile. Her eyes drag from his head down to his shoes, lips pursing in disapproval.

“Oh, Hal. You look terrible.”

Hal runs a hand through his hair. His mouth quirks in half a smirk.

“You look gorgeous. As usual.” A half-hearted wink and Iris laughs.

“Charmer.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and steps back to let him in. There’s a brief moment– a pause before she shuts the door, like she’s waiting for someone else– that makes the last of his smile slip off his lips. He watches her close each lock slowly, shoulders raising up and down with a deep inhale, and then she turns around. The smile on her face only looks a little forced.

“Have you eaten?”

Hal freezes. “Umm.”

“I don’t know why I bother asking, honestly.” He can hear her _tsk_ as she walks past him towards the kitchen. He slips off his shoes before following, one hand sheepishly scratching at the back of his head. The constant headache has left him feeling nauseous the past week, but he knows better than to protest when she has that _look_ in her eyes.

When he pokes his head into the kitchen Iris is scooping a ladle-full of something delicious smelling into a bowl. He scoots his way onto one of her bar stools. He opens his mouth to say.. _something_. Ask how she is, how she’s doing.. but Iris shoves a spoon into his hand and says _eat_ in a way that leaves no room for discussion, so.. he pops the spoonful of stew into his mouth obediently.

Once the bowl’s half-way gone and Iris seems satisfied that he’s put something in his stomach besides alcohol, she finally plants her hands on the kitchen counter, head tilted to the right as she makes her observations.

“You look tired.”

Hal shrugs. Swallows.

“Haven’t been sleeping well.”

He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to see the look of empathy in her eyes. Another spoonful of stew fills up the stilted silence.

Warm fingers brush at the hair above left ear and he blinks, eyes catching Iris’s in the dim light of the kitchen.

“What happened?”

Hal’s eyebrows furrow.

“What?”

Iris looks at him. “It’s white.” She taps the side of her head, right below the temples. “Right here.”

Hal blinks again, and this time it’s– yellow. _Fuck_.

The headache’s on him in an instant, crawling out of the recesses of his brain to slam against his skull at full force. He winces. _Shit_. A hand settles over his arm and squeezes.

“.. Hal?”

He pries his eyes back open. Forces a smile on his face and lets the spoon drop into the bowl with a loud clatter.

“Well, loathe I am to admit it, I am getting on in my years, Iris.”

Iris purses her lips. “Hal, you’re only thirty-two.” She reaches up to turn his head to the side and he has to bite down on his lip _hard_ to stop from reacting. Fuck, his head really hurts. He really wishes she would just drop it. Iris has enough to worry about without him adding his own descent into insanity to the mix.

“I just saw you a week ago. You didn’t have this–” she taps on his temples and he can’t stop the involuntary flinch “– then.” She drops her hands and Hal swipes at the drop of blood on his lips. There’s a loud _thump thump thump_ in his ears that can only be his heartbeat, but every pulse of blood echoes around his skull like a drum. _Distraction, he needs a distraction–_

“Is Wally here?”

Green eyes flick to the spot above his ears and narrow in a way that makes him sure that he hasn’t heard the end of this conversation, and then they flick to the counter. Her hands wrap around her arms, thumbs brushing against the soft cardigan draped over her shoulders. She looks.. _lost_. It makes Hal feel guilty. He reaches out to squeeze her arm.

“.. Iris?”

She lets out a loud breath. Her voice shakes when she speaks. “He’s not here. He’s been– out. Running.”

The chair gives a tired squeak as she slips into the seat opposite him. “He hasn’t stopped running ever since–” teeth biting on her lower lip, fingers clenching around skin like it’s still too painful to say. Hal can relate. “Well, I’m just worried about him.” He can see the silent question in her eyes when she meets his gaze. Hal covers her hand with his own.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Her shoulders slump all at once, hand slipping over his own and squeezing with a small smile.

“Thank you.”

He squeezes her hand back. It feels cold when he drags it back across the counter. His feet settle back on the ground and he's heading towards the door before he can second guess himself. Iris follows a few feet behind. He's bending down to slip on his shoes when Iris tugs on the sleeve of his jacket.

“You know, Hal..” her voice sounds serious and Hal pauses, eyebrow raised as he tilts his head up to listen. Iris grabs his hand with a gentle touch.

“It doesn't matter what happens. You're always welcome here.” Her eyes look watery when she smiles. She squeezes his hand, and it’s _warm_ , the warmest thing he’s felt all day. She makes sure he's looking at her, her eyes bright and sincere.

“You're family.”

Hal can barely stifle the choking noise that slips from his throat. He manages a nod, his teeth clenched so tight that a stab of pain blooms in his jaw. His hand squeezes hers for a long, grateful moment, and then he lets it drop back to her side and turns for the door, eyes hot and shoulders trembling as he tries to keep it together. He still has no fucking idea what he did to deserve people like Iris in his life, not a single goddamn clue.

“Oh, and Hal–”

He turns back. Iris has that small, fragile look around her again. It unnerves him more than he cares to admit. Iris lets out a helpless sounding sigh.

“He’s hurting. Just remember that, okay? Whatever he might say..” she bites her lip. “Just– be careful with him?”

Hal stares for a moment.

“Yeah. Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> halbeary.tumblr.com
> 
> (im sorry)


End file.
